"I wish the Doctor would come down," said Mrs. Smithers, anxiously.

"Yes," put in the School-master; "there seems to be madness in our
midst."

"Well, what can you expect of a Cuban, anyhow?" queried the Idiot. "The
Cuban, like the Spaniard or the Italian or the African, hasn't the vigor
which is necessary for the proper comprehension and rendering of
Wagner's music. He is by nature slow and indolent. If it were easier for
a Spaniard to hop than to walk, he'd hop, and rest his other leg. I've
known Italians whose diet was entirely confined to liquids, because they
were too tired to masticate solids. It is the ease with which it can be
absorbed that makes macaroni the favorite dish of the Italians, and the
fondness of all Latin races for wines is entirely due, I think, to the
fact that wine can be swallowed without chewing. This indolence affects
also their language. The Italian and the Spaniard speak the language
that comes easy--that is soft and dreamy; while the Germans and
Russians, stronger, more energetic, indulge in a speech that even to
us, who are people of an average amount of energy, is sometimes
appalling in the severity of the strain it puts upon the tongue. So,
while I do not wonder that your Cuban pianist showed woful defects in
his use of the pedals, I do wonder that, even with his surprising
agility, he had sufficient energy to manipulate the keys to the
satisfaction of so competent a witness as yourself."

"It was too bad; but we made up for it later," asserted the other.
"There was a young girl there who gave us some of Mendelssohn's Songs
without Words. Her expression was simply perfect. I wouldn't have missed
it for all the world; and now that I think of it, in a few days I can